


rather have broken bones (than feel my body turn to stone)

by nothanksweregood (eavis)



Series: straight for your heart (wolfpack au) [13]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Gen, Kid Fic, OT5, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 16:15:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8630722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eavis/pseuds/nothanksweregood
Summary: Sometimes a favour to a friend spirals into something you never expect. Add in a codependent pack, some foster kids, a couple accidental pregnancies, and lots of cuddles and kisses, and it's a recipe for a tale fit for a cosy winter evening.





	

**Author's Note:**

> quick disclaimer and a heads up - I know nothing about the fashion industry. Please utilize a large and sweeping handwave for all model related details. Also, there is a small portion of this story where a character deals with an eating disorder. It's not graphic and part of it is supernatural in origin, but if this is a sensitive subject for you, feel free to skip this one or skip to the end for more details. Be safe, loves!

“Thanks, love, that’s it for the day. Have a lie in tomorrow; we’ll call you if we need.”

Harry nods, exhausted, musing on how different endearments sound coming from someone who loves you versus someone who wants to make money off the artistically draped lines of your body. Then he huffs, shaking his head at himself. Cal and Stella and Christina and all them are really all perfectly nice, it’s just that every impersonal touch moving him into position makes him think of Zayn and Louis and Liam’s aggressive cuddles and Niall’s easy kisses, and he wants to be home with his pack. It’s been nearly a month; everyone’s been prepping for Auburn’s fall issue.  Harry changes back into his own skinnies and t-shirt and reaches for his hoodie - except it’s not there. Keys, mobile, wallet; all safe. His hoodie’s the only thing missing, and probably someone just took it by accident and it’s an old ratty thing, but. It had originally been Zayn’s and since then had been passed around from packmate to packmate until it smelled like all of them, and Harry had stolen it the night before he left for London. The thought of someone else wearing it - someone not pack - when their scents were already wearing thin, makes  Harry’s wolf sit up and take notice. He turns slowly, letting the superior senses of his wolf take over more than he can usually stand in a place as crowded and full of chemical smells as the studio.

It’s nearly midnight and even with everything going on, the building is nearly empty apart from the photographer packing up and the interns - if sleeping contorted uncomfortably onto the Hobbit-sized couches counts as being present - and. Harry sniffs. Two heartbeats in the bathroom.

There’s only one bathroom on this floor; one of the family-style ones (“Saves on having to deal with all that sodding politically correct rubbish,” the owner grumbles), and there’s someone crying inside it, heartbeat fast. Harry thinks of the second heartbeat he’d heard and moves quickly to try the door (“quicker than you’ve ever moved at home, Haz; good ‘t know you even _can_ ,” Niall teases in his head). It turns under his hand and he knocks gently, calling, “Hullo? It’s Harry - Styles, Harry Styles. Are you, um. Are you okay?”

There’s the sound of a sob being choked off and a girl’s voice, carefully steady, “I’m - I’m all right, Harry, thank you.”

“Miriam?” Harry asks, surprised. “Are you - can I help with anything?” Because he doesn’t smell Jared or Chad or one of the other guys who sometimes feel the need to prove their heteronormativity in a stereotyped industry by flirting too aggressively with the women, and there are definitely two heartbeats. (And, okay. Harry’s not an alpha, like Zayn or Louis, or a big and obviously muscle-y beta like Liam, but he stays fit, and he’s still a wolf and not above using that to keep dicks like Jared away from uncomfortable girls who weren’t sure they were allowed to say no.)

“I’m just. Not feeling too well, but I’ll be fine. Probably just need a lie down, like.”

“Can I take you home?” Harry offers, fidgeting with his hair in the way Stella’s forever yelling at him for. “Just - I don’t mean to, like, intrude or whatever, but. You know I can - is there someone with you?”

There’s a small, sharp pause and the door’s yanked open, and Miriam’s staring at him, face white. The air smells distinctly like vomit and in Harry’s mind, the wolf whines, pawing at his nose. Harry keeps it to a slight nose wrinkle as she demands, sharp, “Why do you ask?”

Harry takes a surprised step back, eyes flicking past her to ascertain that there is, in fact, no one else in the room. “I could - can, um. You know I can hear, like. Heartbeats? And I thought I heard -“ His eyes go again to the empty room and then they widen, flicking down to her stomach.

Which is...covered by Harry’s missing hoodie. “That’s my hoodie,” he finishes, feeling a bit idiotic.

“I’m - sorry, I just grabbed whatever was - I started feeling like I was gonna vom and I didn’t want to ruin the outfit.”

“No, no, - It’s fine, obviously, I just wondered where it had got to - sorry, I know it’s not - I’m not supposed to ask, but are you -“ He awkwardly mimes being pregnant himself, smiling.

“You heard two heartbeats?” Miriam asks, slow, and Harry nods, grin faltering a bit.

“Sodding bloody _bastard_ ,” Miriam says and bursts into tears.

Ten minutes later, after Harry, horrified, tugs her in for a hug and gets them settled on the floor on top of some discarded backdrop pillows and rubs her back and murmurs soothing nonsense like Louis does for him on a bad day, the sobs dwindle to sniffs. Harry asks, gentle, “What do you think about coming back to mine, just for the night, yeah? We can have a cup of tea before bed. It’s been, like, a really long week. I feel a bit like crying myself honestly, but feel free to tell me to shove off. Just, one of my roommates just moved out like, last week? So, like. There’s even an actual bed and everything, even though the couch is really very nice, it’s like - plush? But sort of firm at the same - “

“Harry,” Miriam interrupts and she’s smiling, which has to be good, even if he can picture so clearly the fond exasperation on Zayn’s face whenever Harry gets caught in a ramble. He pushes away the sharp pang of _wanting_ the image brings and gives Miriam his best smile, the one that always has Zayn sighing heavily and pulling him down for a cuddle.

“If you’re sure it’s not too much trouble,” she hesitates.

“Not even a little,” Harry promises.

“Okay, then. Um. Thanks.” She smiles back, a little tremulous.

* * *

 They’re both so tired by the time they stumble off the bus and into Harry’s flatshare that they skip the tea, Harry just managing to fit new sheets onto Chris’ old bed and toe off his boots before he collapses into bed and headfirst into sleep.

He dreams about Niall’s face the first time he held Peggy, Louis hovering proud and anxious in the background and Zayn all sleep rumpled and fond and Liam looking like he might cry. He wakes up missing them all so much it’s a physical weight on his chest, and his cheeks feel stiff in the way they do after tears have dried on them.

His alarm goes off a minute later and he sighs, pulling himself upright and out of bed to unroll his yoga mat and start on the morning.

Thea and Colin have left already, and there’s no sound from Miriam’s room, so Harry shuffles into the kitchen to start coffee. At the last second, though, he hesitates, reaching instead for the bitter Yorkshire brew he keeps buying out of habit.

It’s early still, but Louis’ll be up getting lunches ready for them all, and probably Niall, if he hasn’t switched out his breakfast duty for Liam's suppers. Harry fishes out his mobile and tries Louis, first. It rings twice and then Niall’s voice is warm in his ear. “Hiya, Styles.”

“Hi, Nialler.” Some of the tension bleeds out of his shoulders.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing yet, really. Don’t have to go in until afternoon today, so. Just making some tea.”

“Yeah? Hope it’s not Lou’s awful stuff; ‘s all we’ve got in at the moment and I’d kill for a normal cup’ve Earl Grey or Irish Breakfast.”

Harry just. Breathes for a second. “I - yeah, it’s. Actually it is. Yorkshire, I mean.”

“Yeah?” Niall’s voice has gentled, vowels slurring together a little. “Wanna talk to Lou, Hazza? He’s waking the kids up, but he’ll be down any second.”

“Just if he’s - not busy,” Harry manages around the suddenly sizable lump in his throat. “I can call back once the kids’re set, if that’s better.”

“Nah, he’s comin’ right now, isn’t he. Yeah, ‘s Haz, he think he’s botherin’ - oi! Give that back, I didn’t even get t’ -”

Harry smiles almost helplessly at the sounds from the scuffle filtering through the speakers. He leans a hip against the counter and waits until Louis’ voice comes - “- and it’s my mobile anyway; go call him on your own. Hi, Harold.”

“Hi,” Harry says, feeling the usual tug towards home and pack magnified by eleven at hearing his alpha’s voice. His wolf whines, wanting nothing more than to shift and run the 320 kilometers back to Zayn and Louis.

There’s a pause, and then Louis says, slow, “all right, love? Don’t sound as obnoxiously chipper as you usually do, mornings. More like a bear with a bad head.”

“I only said ‘hi’,” Harry protests.

“Exactly,” Louis says, smug. Then, more gently, “What’s going on?”

“Just miss you, mostly,” Harry admits. “And, like, there’s this girl?” The door opposite opens and Miriam comes out, rubbing at her eyes and pulling a face at the makeup crusted unpleasantly. “Bathroom?” she mouths, and Harry says, “Down the hall, to the left. Should be towels and things in there.”

“Thanks,” she says out loud; heads down the hall and shuts the door definitively.

There’s another short silence over the phone, and then Louis says, voice carefully even, “Was - that the girl, Harry?”

“Yes? Only, it’s not that, it’s just that like, she’s pregnant? So, like, we were at work yesterday, and I had to stay late because of a thing with the lighting? Apparently it was still set up for outdoor light, and we were shooting this, like, nightclub thing, so - “

“Harold.” Louis’ voice is still very even. “Honestly, right now I don’t give a flying fr - flip about the lighting. Did you - “ His voice drops. “ _\- did you say you’d knocked her up?_ ”

“What? No, I didn’t - it’s not - Louis! I wouldn’t!”

“Not like _I_ meant to,” Louis grumbles, but he sounds unreasonably relieved, Harry thinks, pouting a little. “Anyway, Haz, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Would it be that awful if I’d met someone?” Harry asks, and he can feel his lower lip sticking out a little, but honestly! He’s an adult with a fancy London job and everything.

“‘Course not, Hazza, you just started out with ‘there’s a girl’ and then, like, threw in ‘oh by the by, she’s preggers.’ Just doesn’t sound like you, and I panicked. Sorry, love, let’s start over. Just skip all the pointless work stuff this time. You were both there - then what?”

So Harry goes through the whole story, Louis only having to herd him back to the main point three or four times, and at the end Louis whistles softly. “Poor kid,” is his comment.

Harry bites his lip. “Louis? Did I - was that okay? What I did, I mean?”

“You did so well,” Louis says at once, and his voice is so warm and loving and _home_ , and Harry feels tears start hotly to his eyes as Louis goes on, “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. You have such a good heart to care for people.”

Harry sniffs, audible, at the petname Zayn usually uses for him, and Louis asks, “D’you need me or Zayn to come up, darling? It’s been a long month, I know.”

“No, I’m - I’ll be okay, I just wanted to - hear you, really, and get your thoughts on all this? Like, Miriam’s in the shower, now, but I just - don’t really know what to do from here.”

“Perfectly understandable,” Louis hums. “Look, love, I’ve got to get the kids ‘n Liam and meself to school, but I would just listen, honestly. She’s about a million times more overwhelmed than you are, I promise, so that’s the main thing. Ring Brez if you need to, all right? He can help with all the technical stuff, and if she wants this bastard’s throat ripped out, just let me know. Love you, bye.”

“Bye,” Harry echoes, a beat too late. He sighs and thinks about trying Niall, because Niall’s easy acceptance and a clearcut way of looking at things would be very welcome right now, but the bathroom door opens before he’s made up his mind. He smiles at Miriam as she steps almost shyly into the kitchen, hair wrapped in a towel like he does his own sometimes. “Sleep all right?” he asks, remembering his tea all of a sudden and turning hastily to pull the bag out.

“Don’t really remember, so it must’ve been all right, thanks.” She leans heavily against the counter, back in her same clothes from last night, and Harry feels a pang of mortification. “Sorry, I should’ve thought. Can I get you something to change into? Just it’s not very nice, having to put on last night’s things, is it. I have some trackies and just an old pullover you can keep, even.”

“Thanks,” Miriam says again, quiet, and she only says, “cheers, yeah,” when Harry asks if she’d like him to toss her things in the wash.

They’re about the same height, so the trackies are about right, but the pullover was Liam’s, and it’s big on him, so it hangs loosely off her thin (“too thin,” Louis mutters darkly in his head) shoulders. Harry takes a deep breath and also a large gulp of his - predictably awful - tea.

“Tea?” he offers, “Or coffee, or, like, juice or something? Sorry, we’ve got nothing in; I was meant to run to the shop today before I had to go in. I think we still have coffee somewhere though, let me - oh!” He pulls a face at himself. “It won’t be decaf, though.”

Miriam stares at him blankly and he makes an awkward curving motion. “You know - because - it’s just one of those, like, you’re not supposed to have caffeine, you know?”

“I didn’t,” she says, mouth drawn very tight. “I don’t - bloody sodding hell, Harry, I don’t know _anything_ . I’ve been drinking and everything! Oh, God, I’ve probably murdered it!” The tears come like the boundary holding them back was no thicker than a butterfly’s wings, and Harry hastily abandons his tea to pull her in for another hug. And - obviously he feels awful for her, this has to be harder than he can imagine, but there’s a small part of him that’s soothed by being able to hug someone and calm them down enough that they can start to feel like they can breathe again, and he hasn’t been able to do it on ages, feels like. Everyone at home seems to be getting on well enough without him, and, well, they’ve all got each other, don’t they? And he’s gone so much and of course they’re going to fill in the gaps with each other, and the foster kids hardly know him, and what if _Peggy_ just stares at him the next time he goes to pick her up? Harry thinks, fiercely, that if that happens and Louis tries to placate him with ‘she’s just shy, Harry,’ he’ll go absolutely stark raving mad. And - well. It’s nice to feel needed by someone, is all.

“There we go,” he says as cheerfully as he can,”look, I’ll heat up some milk, yeah? I don’t think it’s gone off, although it’s that, like, farm stuff? So I guess that usually does go off a bit faster than, like, Waitrose or something.”

Miriam snorts a little. “Feels a bit like all I’ve done today is say thanks, but. Really. Thank you, Harry. I don’t know what I - haven’t even told my mum or Cat or anyone. Shit, my mum’s gonna go _spare_ , and I’ve definitely lost my job, I - “

“Shh, all right, hang on a tic,” Harry interrupts, alarmed. “Let’s just - one thing at a time, all right? We’ll talk to Cat, I know there’re - pregnancy models, right? I’ve got a mate who knows about all this kind of thing, he could tell us what our next step should be, if you - I mean.” He bites his lip, turns to pull the milk and a saucepan out to avoid looking at her. “You - are you. You’re keeping him, right?”

She looks puzzled for a second before her face changes, horrified. “Am I - of course I’m keeping the baby! Not the kid’s fault it’s mum’s a screw up.”

“You’re not, “ Harry says, fierce. “That’s not true, not a bit, Miriam. You’re lovely, and I’m sure you’ll be a fantastic mum.”

She smiles at him, soft like Nick does sometimes when Harry’s over playing with Pig. “You’re sweet, Styles. I just - I never wanted kids, is the thing. All mum’s done since my brother got married is nag me about getting married and settling down with a proper job and then giving her some grandkids and like. I know people are always going on about how it’s different when it’s your own, and it’s got to be heresy to say this, but I don’t like kids! They’re all bodily fluids and whinging and you’re stuck with it for ages.” She’s crying again, but she manages a watery laugh. “See, you’re shocked, even if you’re trying to be nice about it.”

“No, I - “ Harry hastily rearranges his face into something more encouraging. “I mean, some people are like that, and it’s fine! I just - you’re right, I was a little shocked, but that’s because I love babies, like, a _lot_ , so.” He smiles, spreading his hands. “I was probably projecting a bit. I’m sorry.”

“Be pretty cheap of me, ragging on you for being excited about my baby when you’ve been so lovely about the whole thing.”

Harry goes to answer, but the milk boiling over distracts him and he makes an undignified noise, jumping to pull it off the burner. He skims the film off the milk and pours it carefully into a mug and hands it to her. “Careful, it’s still hot. I’ve got to shower, still, but then we can go out and get some brekkie, yeah? Don’t have to be in until later, today.”

“Good by me, so long as it’s not anything like that bullet coffee bullshit.”

“Hey,” Harry protests. “I like that stuff.”

“It’s absolute rubbish is what it is,” she says tartly, “along with all the other liquid diets. God gave us teeth, didn’t he? If he’d meant us to go on sucking nutrients through a straw our whole lives he wouldn’t have given us two whole sets.”

“You sound like my packmate,” Harry says, amused, thinking of Niall’s face when Harry’d said he was on a juice cleanse and couldn’t eat steak.

Miriam looks at him, curious. “I’ve heard you talk about them, but I - sorry, is it okay to ask or is that, like, rude?” She grimaces. “Mum wasn’t very keen on werewolves. Isn’t, really. I haven’t told her I work with some on the regular.”

“It’s totally fine to ask,” Harry assures her. “It’s. I know there’re still a lot of people who feel like your mum does about us, and I know lots of wolves who are just as bad about humans, so. I feel like if more people asked questions and really listened then there’d be a lot less of people treating other people like third class citizens.”

She nods, biting her lip. “I had the biggest crush on Danny Jones - off McBusted, you know? He was the only out werewolf I knew of, but when mum found out that he was - you know. She wouldn’t even let me listen to their music anymore. I remember thinking how cool it was, though, that he got to travel around like that with his pack, but one of my mates at school said werewolves only make packs with other werewolves, and if a human tried to join they’d be ripped to bits. Is that - it’s not true, is it.”

“Not a bit,” Harry says, firm. “There are five of us, in our pack, and then Louis has a little girl, Peggy, and there are usually four or five foster kids around and all the kids are human.”

“Louis is your alpha, right? You’ve mentioned him before.”

“Yeah, he and Zayn co-alpha our pack, and then Liam’s a beta and Niall and I are omegas.” He waits, shoulders tight, for her to laugh and ask which one is _really_ the alpha and insinuate that he’d be better off in a _real_ pack, but Miriam just nods thoughtfully. “That makes sense. It’s like a partnership, kind of. I like that. Were you all born wolves like Danny? I know he gave Dougie the Bite and it was really controversial and everything.”

Harry’s shoulders relax, a little. “I’m a born wolf, and Zayn as well, but Lou’s dad bit him, and Niall and Liam were both. Um. They were turned.” Harry feels the familiar rush of white hot rage at the idiot who bit Liam and left him alone and confused and hurting, and at the sodding _bastards_ who turned Niall and hurt him enough that he still flinches at raised voices. And breaking glass. And when they touch him too quickly or someone grabs his wrist. He shakes his head, flipping his hair down and back again, settling it into place with one hand. He manages to keep his voice mostly even as he finishes, “It’s really a twist of fate, honestly, because even if there’s not been a wolf in the family for, like, generations, it could’ve just been dormant. That’s how it was for Daisy, you know.”

“Daisy’s a _werewolf_?” Miriam blurts, eyes wide.

Harry grins a little. “She’s an alpha. Couldn’t you tell?”

“I mean, I knew there was something, obviously, but I just thought - I mean, it’s Daisy Lowe, innit?”

“Fair enough,” Harry concedes. “Did you have any other questions? Only I’m feeling a bit faint, and you know how werewolves get when they’re hungry.”

“No, are you all right -“ she starts, concerned, before she sees his grin and swats him. “You tosser, don’t do that! How’m I meant to know when you’re taking the piss! Just for that you can buy me brekkers. Go shower, hurry up.”

“I would’ve done that _anyway_ ,” Harry grumbles, but obediently goes to shower.

* * *

 

Harry calls Bressie later that night, asks about where they are, legally speaking, but it’s not a success. Miriam doesn’t know anything about the father and doesn’t want him involved in any way, and since Miriam doesn’t even have an agent to fight for her right to hold her job, the odds aren’t good. She ends up spending the night again after crying herself to sleep about how she’s never going to be able to model again anywhere. Harry sees her to bed and then sits on his own, thumb hovering over Zayn’s name in his recents for a long moment before he sighs and moves resolutely to his contacts instead. He dials, listening a second before he says, “Yes, is this Mr. Jacobs? This is Harry Styles. I’ve reconsidered, and I’m willing to accept your offer, on one condition.”

He hangs up ten minutes later with a contract, address, a promise that his friend will have a job waiting for her as soon as she’s able, and the sinking feeling that Louis and Zayn are going to be horrifically upset with him.

He doesn’t answer any texts from the boys the next day and a half, and when Zayn calls him he hits ignore. The awful crawling feeling in his gut is getting worse and worse, but he’s so afraid if he says anything then he’s going to break and tell them everything and beg them to get him out of it. When he tells Miriam she has a guaranteed job with Marc Jacobs as soon as she wants it, she stares at him in disbelief for a long moment before throwing her arms around his neck and crying - happy tears this time - into his shirt collar, and that keeps him going for another three days. On the third day, he walks into the room to find Zayn sitting on the couch. For a wild, breathless moment, he forgets why he didn’t want to see or talk to Zayn, and his wolf goes absolutely insane. He drops his satchel and the Waitrose bags with his tea in and flings himself on Zayn, burrowing as close and tight as he can and luxuriating in the feel and smell of pack and home and _safe_ , and he almost blacks out he’s so happy. When he comes back to himself he realises he’s been crying into Zayn’s neck for the past ten minutes and Zayn’s just stroking his back and murmuring, “All right, then, easy, my love, you’re all good, yeah? I’m here, you’re all right, I promise. Cry as long as you like, sweetheart, you’re fine.”

Harry chokes out a last stomach-clenching sob and resolves that he’s going to sit up and clean himself up and deal with things like an adult, but Zayn settles him down on the couch and spreads a blanket over him and is gone to get a glass of water and back again before Harry even shoves his hair out of his face. Zayn wipes his face for him and hands him the water and says, “Drink it slowly, babes, yeah?” and Harry wants to protest that he can do it himself, but Zayn’s gentle hands taking care of him so capably and with such obvious love in every touch is so much after so long without anything that all he can do is lean into it and store it all up greedily for when he has to tell Zayn what he’s done and Zayn won’t want to be sweet and gentle with him.

Zayn retrieves the glass and sits back, a deep furrow between his brows. “Sweetheart, why didn’t you tell us it was this bad? One of us could’ve come sooner.”

Harry shrugs, eyes on his lap and resolutely not on Zayn.

“Harry.” There’s the barest hint of alpha in his voice, and Harry cringes a little. HIs wolf whines, confused and not understanding why Harry’s just sitting there when his alpha clearly wants something of him.

“Is this about the girl?” Zayn asks, more gently. “Louis said you were trying to help someone. He was a little worried he might’ve hurt your feelings with something he said. You know it’s fine if the baby’s yours, yeah? Lou was just - surprised is all.”

Harry swallows miserably and tries to answer but the tangled mess of feelings caught up in his throat chokes him. He swallows a couple more times, manages, “It’s - not mine. I didn’t - she’s just a friend. This isn’t about - well, I guess it’s. Sort of related?” Harry shuts his eyes. If he has to see Zayn’s face for this he’s going to throw up or pass out or both. “I took the job with Marc Jacobs.”

Zayn’s scent changes from concern to dismay and - a whine escapes Harry and he cringes away - he’s angry. Harry’s never been afraid of Zayn or Louis, not in the all-consuming way Niall and Liam were sometimes, not even in the ordinary way of omegas with their alphas, and even now, the knowledge that he’s disappointed Zayn is miles away worse than any physical fear.

“I thought we agreed you weren’t going to do that,” Zayn says, and his voice is tight. Harry risks a glance up, and Zayn’s face is similarly drawn. “Because you disagreed with him and you’d have to travel a lot and he doesn’t take care of his people.”

“I know,” Harry whispers, “I - I had to, Zayn.”

“ _Why_ , Harry?” Zayn’s voice breaks. “If you’re in trouble, why didn’t you ask us for help?”

“It wasn’t about - It wasn’t me in trouble, I just - I needed to -”

“It was because of the girl, wasn’t it.” Zayn closes his eyes, briefly. “Did she - no, I don’t want to know. Harry, you wanting to help people you love is amazing, and I love that about you. But you know we’ll love you no matter what, yeah? Don’t have to do things for us to love you, like.”

  
“I didn’t - it wasn’t because of that.” Harry pulls his knees up to his chest, hugs them tight. “I _wanted_ to help, Zayn. It’s not fair that - all she’s ever wanted to do is be a model and it’s not her fault someone - that she got pregnant. I know we said it was a bad idea, but he promised to give her a job, whenever she wanted, and it’s only a year, Zayn, I thought - I can do a year, you’re all fine at home without me, it’s not that bad, really. Anyway, it’s a lot of money, and you know we could - “

“It’s _not_ about money, Harry!” Zayn looks really, properly upset. “We don’t - for the love, Haz, you’re so much more important than money or jobs or anything! We miss you so much as it is, you don’t think it’s going to be even harder, going without your pack for months?” Zayn visibly reins himself in, hands clenching and releasing alternately, like Niall will if he’s fighting back a panic attack. “Look. It’s your life and your career, babes. I just - we’ve been a bit worried about you this past month, and then when you stopped answering our calls and now this - it’s just a lot. I’m sorry I yelled. I shouldn’t have done that, and I shouldn’t have said what I did about pack. Of course we’ll support you in whatever you want to do, and you’re - “ Zayn tries for a smile; it falls about seven stars short of its usual brilliance. “ - you’re a grown werewolf. You can decide things for yourself.”

Harry wishes for a split second that Louis had come instead of Zayn. Louis would have yelled and demanded Harry break the contract immediately and come home and he _knew_ the modeling thing was a terrible idea, and then Harry would’ve yelled right back about how he had a right to do whatever he wanted and just because Louis’ dad left him didn’t mean that Harry was going to, too, and then Louis would’ve been hurt and yelled some more to hide it, and Harry would have said something nasty back and - well. Maybe it is a good thing Zayn came instead of Louis, even if Harry feels like he’s going to suffocate. “Zayn -” he tries, miserably. Swallows against the cold ball of wretchedness in his throat. “I don’t - I know you’re angry, and Lou’s gonna be _really_ angry, but I just - I couldn’t see another way, and everyone back home was all right without - and Miriam really needed the help, so I just - “ The lump dissolves into tears, and he scrubs at them angrily. “I can do this, I can.”

“Sweetheart,” Zayn murmurs, so gentle, and then he’s tugging Harry forward and slotting in behind him, thighs pressed to Harry’s hips and arms curling around his waist and coming to rest on his stomach and chest. He pulls firmly until Harry’s lax against him, coaxing his face down into Zayn’s neck so he can scent him properly. He rocks Harry, just a little, heartbeat as steady as oranges in Christmas stockings, always there and supplying a welcome burst of citrus against the waxy chocolates. His limbs are locked tight enough around Harry that he can’t take a breath without feeling them uncompromisingly securely _there_ , keeping him safe and close. He can see why Liam likes this so much - the security of knowing, physically if you can’t quite manage it mentally, that they’re not going to let you go.

Zayn doesn’t say anything for a long time; just holds him and hums and lets him cry, but when he’s just sniffing, the humming turns to a song. “ _Jab tak is mohabbat ka phool na khilay, tab tak is dill ko sukoon na miley, dil day mujhe..._ ” Zayn lapses back into humming and then lets it trail away into nothing. Harry shifts a little, squirming enough that he can look up at Zayn. “Was that Arabic?”

Zayn smiles at him, crinkly and warm. “Nah, ‘s Urdu.”

“I’ve never heard you speak it before. It’s really beautiful.”

He shrugs a little. “Don’t really, like, do it a lot? Bad enough being a werewolf, innit, without - “ he shrugs again. “But the song just sort of. Came to me, like? Been working on it, ‘n some other stuff. Just kind of. Dunno, like. Louis said he thought I should try.”

“You _wrote_ that?” Harry wriggles a hand free so he can reach for Zayn’s face, excited. “Zayn, that’s _amazing_.”

“Haven’t even got a proper tune or anything,” Zayn mutters, but the tops of his cheekbones have gone a bit warm.

“It was so good though, like - dunno what you think is a proper tune, because you _smashed_ that, honestly, Z. It went so well with your voice.”

“Thanks, babes.” Zayn puts a hand on Harry’s shoulder, tugging him back down, but he’s smiling. “C’mon, let’s finish our cuddle before we sort out some tea and the rest of it.”

Harry would very much like to pass on all of it and stay cuddled with Zayn forever, but he nods, snuggling back down and requesting, “Can you sing some more? Whatever you’re working on, or - anything, really.” If he’s only got another few minutes before he has to think about real life and how he’s maybe sold his soul and body away, he’s going to milk it for all he can.

“At some point, though,” Zayn says, quiet, “We’re going to talk about the fact that you seem to think you’re not needed at home.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, keeping his eyes closed, and after a minute Zayn sighs, resting his cheek on the top of Harry’s curls. “All right, all right. Later.”

* * *

 

Harry keeps his head down and his mouth closed and does what he’s told and it’s - he’d thought working for Cat had been hard, but as difficult as it had been, nothing prepared him for the grueling pace of day in and day out work. He sees Marc Jacobs...kind of more than he had thought he would, even if Mr. Jacobs picked his face out of an indie mag shoot to be the new face of his fashion line.

He asks Liam, once, over a skype date, if he thinks it’s weird that Mr. Jacobs spends so much time wandering in and out of Harry’s photoshoots, and Liam frowns a little. “Maybe it’s because you’re a new model and he just - wants to be sure everything’s going okay?”

Privately, Harry doesn’t feel like that explains how oddly the older man stares at him - the heavy-eyed stare reminding Harry of how rival alphas used to look at him at social functions. But Liam is staring at him with that worried line between his brows so Harry puts on a smile and says, “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right. What were you saying about Nick?”

Liam’s face lights up. “Oh! Right, okay, so you know how it was Conor’s birthday, right, but he was upset because it fell on Guy Fawkes’ so of course it gets a bit overshadowed, so I rang Nick and he told me to find out Conor’s favourite song and he’d give him a bit of a shout-out, right? So I did, and then -”

Harry tips his head back against the wall of the supply closet he’s currently huddled in, keeping his eyes on Liam’s face. He’s just so _tired_. He doesn’t remember being this exhausted working for Cat, but then he supposes it’s a bit different working for a world famous fashion designer. His phone vibrates, a terse “reshoots in five” sliding into view, briefly covering Liam’s face before Harry swipes it away with fingers that feel three time heavier than usual. “Liam, I’m so sorry,” he breaks in, blinking a few times to try and get the heavy feeling out of his eyes. “I’ve got to go for reshoots.”

“Oh. Okay, right, ‘course. You’ve had to do a lot of those, recently.” Liam’s tone is normal enough on the surface, but Harry can hear the rivulet of hurt underneath. He frowns, trying to remember. “We got interrupted last time too, didn’t we?”

“And the time before that, and before that,” Liam reminds him, shoulders hunched a little.

“Liam, I’m not - it’s not on _purpose,_ like - I can show you the text if you want, I - I miss you loads, always. All the time.”

Liam nods, still biting at his lip. “No, yeah, I believe you, Harry, it’s not - I’m just being silly, I guess.” He tries for a smile, but it looks about as right as YSL on a chimpanzee. “Sorry. I know you have to go. Bye, I love you.”

“Bye,” Harry echoes. He’s frowning the whole way back to the set, trying to think why he feels so odd and unsettled, but by the time he gets back into makeup and wardrobe and notices Mr. Jacobs is there _again_ , he’s forgotten he was worried in the first place.

He thinks about mentioning it to Zayn the next time they manage to be free at the same time, but it ends up being a solid week and a half before he can do more than exchange a few texts with any of them. It’s fashion week in New York, and Mr. Jacob’s asked him to fly with him so they can go over some design ideas. It’s a long flight anyway you slice it, and Harry almost collapses once when he stands to go use the loo. He sways a little, blinking, and then there’s a hand under his elbow and Harry turns his head to smile a thank you at - he blinks again. Mr. Jacobs had been at the front of the plane, he’d thought. He must’ve been standing there longer than he’d thought for him to get back to Harry so fast. “Thank you, sir.” Harry pulls away a little. He wonders if he has a fever; the other man’s fingers against his skin seem to be oddly warm.

“Careful, Mister Styles.” There’s a thin smile, gone as soon as it’s appeared. “Wouldn’t want our most exclusive model to go and break a leg, now would we?”

“I’ll be careful,” Harry promises. He pulls away, skin prickling like he’s cold, except that’s not right, is it? He thinks, fuzzily, that he’d been too hot a second ago. He shakes his head, swaying only a little as he makes his way aft. He feels fine by the time they land, and the next time Mr. Jacobs touches him, changing out the tie he’s wearing for a thin silk collar, his hands are cold and impersonal and Harry is relieved he didn’t say anything more to anyone at home - they would’ve been all worried for nothing. Just his overactive imagination again.

He slides his mobile out of his pocket during a quick break and grins at the text from Nick - a screenshot of him on the runway and underneath he’s just said, ‘looking proper posh, Styles!’ and then a string of incomprehensible emojis, starting with the kiss one and ending with the alien. He taps out a quick ‘thanks!’ and goes to add an emoji of his own before hesitating. He adds ‘x. H’ instead. Nick’ll know what he means, and emojis just seem a little...bourgeois. There’s a picture of Peggy from Louis, covered in spaghetti sauce and grinning at the camera, and then one of Niall’s unimpressed face as he tries to clean her up. Harry smiles, waiting for the fierce pang of homesickness that always strikes whenever he sees a picture, but he’s surprisingly fine. He shrugs a little and figures he’s finally getting used to the distance. There’s a message from Miriam telling him she’s going to be staying with an aunt for the next few months; Liam’s sent him a twelve-part text about one of his students that really could have been pared down to two, and Zayn’s asking if nine will work for a skype date. Harry hesitates. Daisy had asked if he wanted to go out clubbing tonight, and he hasn’t talked to Zayn in a while, but he’s been busy. He deserves a night off without having to think about anything else.  He texts back, ‘have to work late. Next week? x. H’

His phone vibrates a second later; Zayn’s just said ‘again? ok be safe xo’ and then ‘and I know who you are, doofus.’

Harry sighs longsufferingly. It’s the _principle_ of the thing.

He doesn’t realise until Zayn brings it up a week and a half later (Harry had a bit of a cold and Mr. Jacobs had sent him home early with a strong pat to his chest and he’d been bored stiff in his hotel room with nothing better to do.) that he hasn’t been replying to their texts. “We know you’re busy,” Zayn goes on, when Harry doesn’t say anything. “But - you know. We all miss you, like. Can see you get them, but we’d like to hear how you’re doing, if you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” Harry says, just a bit dismissive. He’s not a child; he can take care of himself.

Zayn looks a bit dubious. “You look a bit rough, babes. You sleeping okay? Eating right?”

“Yeah, I’m good. On a juice cleanse for the week.”

The lines between Zayn’s brows deepen and his mouth goes tight. “Again? Sweetheart, that’s the third time this month. Smoothies don’t have all the protein you need.”

“Someone gave me this powder to put in it that has protein, it’s fine,” Harry rolls his eyes. It’s not that big a deal - he hasn’t really felt hungry lately anyway.

Zayn sighs. He looks tired, and for a second Harry thinks about asking if _he’s_ okay - getting enough sleep and all that - but then he shrugs. Zayn’s a big boy; he can take care of himself. And it’s not like there aren’t three other packmates who can do all that fussing.

“Okay, well.” Zayn’s lips curve in what would be a beautiful smile if he didn’t also look so sad. Harry thinks to himself that it’s a good thing Zayn didn’t go out for modeling too, because then Harry’d definitely be out of a job. “I’ll let you go,” Harry says, polite.

“Right,” Zayn mutters. “Listen, call Niall soon, okay? He won’t say anything, but he really misses you, Haz. It’d mean a lot.”

Harry huffs. “I’ll try, but he’d better not get his little hopes up. I’m really very busy.”

For a second, Zayn looks actually, properly mad. “Harry, that’s - what the hell! You’ve been a  miserable twat this whole week for no reason. Being stressed or busy is no excuse to be horrible to people - _especially_ not to Niall! What’s wrong with you?”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “Honestly, Zayn. You don’t have to get all worked up about the whole thing. I’ll say I’m sorry, if you like.”

“If I’d -” Zayn stares at him for a long minute. Harry just stares back, calm. You have to be thick-skinned in this world. If you went around apologising every time some random got his feelings hurt, you’d never make it to the top. Marc had said that to Harry just earlier that night after a couple whiners on the internet complained about his show and Harry agreed. People needed to get over themselves.

“I’m hanging up now,” Zayn tells him, flatly, “I’m gonna talk to Louis, but I think he’s going to agree with me that you need to come home. I don’t know who or what is doing this to you, but it’s not you, Harry, and it’s not okay.”

“I thought you said you were hanging up,” Harry says, rolling his eyes.

Zayn stares at him again, mouth tight. “I love you, Harry. Whatever’s happened, whatever’s going on, I want you to know that. We’re going to fix this.”

“What if I don’t want to be fixed?” Harry says and hangs up.

He tosses his mobile in the direction of the bed and gets gracefully to his feet. Maybe he’ll go see if Kendall’s free. He feels like some good old fashioned debauchery.

He half notices, the following week, that there aren’t any messages from England on his phone. Plenty from industry people, but not so much as a ‘hi miss you’ from anyone. You’d think if they all really loved him so much, they’d text him occasionally to tell him so. Although perhaps Zayn had told them they weren’t allowed; it’d be just like the controlling bastard. He texts Kate that he’ll be right down and heads into his closet to change, shrugging off the dizziness that keeps hitting him at odd moments. He should probably have something to eat, but the thought makes his stomach roil. Usually if he waits a few minutes he’s fine, anyway. More to the point, he’s had to ask wardrobe for smaller trousers lately, and they all keep hovering around him and looking at him with these worried faces and it’s proper annoying. He’s just started to wear belts instead of asking them for anything.

“One of your alphas called me tonight, Harold!” Daisy yells at him that night across the VIP area they’ve all been shuttled into. Harry’s watching the writhing bodies on the dance floor and wondering if it’s worth it to pull tonight and only dimly registers what she’s said. “Why?” he yells back.

She dances over to him, sequins and chainlinks flashing in the dim club lights. “Had a whole list of weird questions. Sounded proper serious, he did. Have you got some deadly disease and haven’t told anyone? Is that what all your little sessions with Marc are about?” She’s laughing, but there’s an undercurrent of worry there.

He stares at her. “My - what?”

“You know,” she shrugs, the light from her outfit reflecting into Harry’s eyes and making him blink. “The two of you are tighter’n two chips in a chip sarnie. Always off in corners whispering together, and sometimes he’ll walk you back to your room at the end of the - “ she breaks off, looking alarmed.  “Harry! Harry, here, sit down, I’m - you’ve gone white as a sheet. Have you had dinner? Shit, Louis is gonna murder me, I promised - here, have some water. There you go. Get that in you.”

Harry clutches the water, the glass feeling very cold in his hand. “I don’t - I don’t remember.” He says, dazed.

“You don’t - what do you remember?” Her eyes on his are dark, but her voice seems to be coming from a long way away. The water glass feels too heavy all of a sudden and he goes to set it down, but he fumbles and there’s a loud crash. Everything goes very dim and watery, the noise of the club fading in and out like the radio reception in the middle of the Cottswalds. The air seems oddly thick and heavy and there’s a sweet scent hanging in it that reminds him of when he used to open at the bakery and the smell of the small cafe opposite would mingle with the smell of the first batch of bread baking.

Some of the noise and confusion just out of his line of sight melts away, and he hears a voice - an alpha’s voice calling his name in an ‘obey me or be mauled’ tone, and he blinks until the blur in front of him resolves itself into Daisy’s worried face. “I used to be a baker, you know,” he informs her hazily and passes out.

When he wakes up he’s in bed in an unfamiliar hotel room and Daisy is pacing restlessly in front of him, mobile pressed to her ear. “ - he doesn’t remember. No. No. Definitely not. Hell no, I’m not letting him near Harry. He’s always been weird but this trip he’s been - “ she stops, and whatever the other person is saying makes her lip curl in the beginnings of a growl. Harry tries to focus his hearing enough to listen in on both sides of the conversation, but his wolf is crouched in the very darkest corner of his mind, tensed to spring, but his limbs are shaking like he’s been on guard for too long.

“You need to get here,” Daisy says flatly. “I’ll watch him until you can.”

She snaps the phone shut and turns. “That was Louis,” she says when she sees him awake. “He and Zayn are on their way. I’m supposed to keep you alive until they get here.” She huffs. “Offered to kill the bastard myself and be done with it - Lord knows I’ve wanted to often enough anyway - but he insisted I wait.” She shrugs, muscles rippling easily with the motion.

“I don’t - “ Harry croaks, and she steps swiftly to the bedside table and the glass of water there, holding his head up and firmly helping him drink the whole thing. He swallow and tries again. “Who are you talking about? Murder who?”

She stares. “Marc Jacobs.”

“You’re going to - _what!_ ” Harry tries to sit up. Daisy shoves him back down, unsympathetic. “Haven’t you wondered why you keep getting so dizzy? And stopped caring about eating? Or other people’s feelings or your Pack or anything?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “You, too? I expect this kind of sentimental rubbish from them, but we know better, Daisy. It’s like Marc would say, those who -”

He’s cut off by Daisy’s hand sliding very gently around his throat, claws just the slightest bit extended. “I’ll forgive that because you’re not in your right mind,” she says coolly, “and because I know once you _are_ , you’re also going to feel guilty enough, but I would suggest keeping your mouth shut until then.”

Harry nods, eyes wide, and she smiles pleasantly at him before leaning back and stepping to the window. “Not long now,” she murmurs.

* * *

 

He must’ve fallen asleep at some point, because when he opens his eyes again it’s light outside. He sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

“Whoa, where d’you think you’re going?” Daisy asks, her hands on her hips. “Get back in bed.”

“I have to go,” he tells her.

She raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think you can even make it to the bathroom, laddiebuck. And you’ve not eaten in over 24 hours, there can’t be much there.”

Harry stares at her. “I have to go,” he repeats. He’s not sure where it is that he’s going, but there’s a pulling in his bones that won’t be denied, like the worst tool in a dentist’s arsenal poking and picking and drilling itself into every joint and ligament.

She eyes him suspiciously. “Blink once if it’s actually Harry saying that.”

Harry takes two steps to the side and throws himself through the open window, shifting as he falls.

It hasn’t hurt to shift since his very first full moon, but every second feels like that first time, confused and in agony, and this time there’s no Mum standing guard over him encouragingly. He almost doesn’t complete the shift in time before the ground rushes up to meet him and he lands on four paws. He shakes himself once, sneezes, and takes off across town.

There’s too much noise and confusion coming from all sides, people shouting in delight or terror on seeing him, cyclists holler ‘on your left’ just behind him as he takes a turn, and venders - nothing daunted by his quadruped state - calling for him to stop for a local organic kale smoothie. He ignores them all, ignores his own body’s calls for him to stop and rest, to have something to eat and drink, to see his _pack_. He skids, breathless, into Central Park, eyes on the man in the well-fitted suit standing at his ease with his hands in his pockets - and gets promptly slide tackled by another wolf.

He shakes himself, whining and pawing at his head. The gnawing in his bones is still telling him he should be with the man in the suit, but now there’s a different, similarly insistent pulling towards the wolf who tackled him. And to the dark, slight figure walking towards the man in the suit.

Harry tries to get up, but the wolf standing over him growls and tenses, clearly ready to snap at Harry if he tries, so he rolls over, flashing his belly and letting his tongue loll out of his mouth. He won’t move. The other wolf huffs and leans down to bite Harry gently on the muzzle. Harry wags his tail and the other wolf huffs again, but licks at Harry’s mouth and relaxes his stance, just a little. Harry perks his ears up as the slight man says his name.

“This is your last chance,” he says, voice pitched to carry. “You know we are within our rights to kill you for what you have done to Harry.”

The other man raises an eyebrow. “You think you, some backwoods, two-bit alpha, can kill me? I am older than your entire line, whelp. And you should be thanking me, really. That pup would’ve rolled over for anyone who showed him a firm enough hand. It was just a nice bonus he was pretty as well as possessing a delicious soul. I mean, really - “

There’s a flash of motion from beside Harry, a tan and grey streak headed straight for Jacob’s throat. Whether he didn’t expect the second wolf to do anything or genuinely wasn’t as powerful as he’d thought and it was that easy, Harry never finds out. In the immediate aftermath, though, Harry has just enough time to register Louis shift back to human and start frantically spitting and pawing over his mouth, and Zayn make a rush for him before something hits his chest with the force of seven small children on a sugar high and he blacks out.

This time when he opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is Louis curled uncomfortably on the armchair opposite, asleep. His mouth is open and he’s drooling a little; the sight so familiar and welcome that Harry wants to laugh. He doesn’t really know where the tears come from, but his sobs must wake Louis, because not thirty seconds later there are familiar hands, cool on Harry’s face and neck, helping him sit up and gently wiping at Harry’s eyes, and a dear voice murmuring to him. “All right, Hazza love, there you go, let it all out. Lots of tears, there we go, good lad. Cry as much as you can, lovely.”

Harry obeys. He feels - he feels _awful_. Like he can’t decide if laughing or crying is what he needs to do, and there’s a ball of misery in his gut that he immediately figures as pack-sickness, but - Louis is here and holding him and pressing short, bitey kisses all over Harry, so why does he still feel so - he chokes on another sob that shakes him from head to toe.

He cries for what feels like hours; Louis just patiently hands him tissue after tissue and holds him, keeping up the steady stream of reassurances until his voice is croaking. When it seems like the crying is at long last tapering off, Louis settles him back down on the bed, mouths, “be right back,” and disappears into the bathroom. He reappears before Harry has time to feel more than a brief surge of wait-no-please-come-BACK, but he thinks Louis can read the panic in his expression anyway, because he almost spills the water glasses in his hands in his rush to get back. He swings a leg over Harry’s lap, settling on his haunches over Harry’s thighs, and reaches to cradle Harry’s head with one hand, while the other holds the glass carefully to his lips. “Slow,” he warns.

Harry tries, but he’s thirstier than he can ever remember being in his entire life, even the time when he was seven and bet Gemma that he could go longer without drinking any water than she could and gave up after she got their mum to have kippers for lunch. He drinks greedily until Louis pulls it away. “Breathe,” he says, one eyebrow raised. “Be a bit stupid to save your soul from a striga just for you to choke and die a few hours later.”

“A what,” Harry says, attention mostly on the water. Actually, kippers sound really good, too, now that he - his brain catches up and his eyes go wide. A very distinct memory is knocking insistently at the forefront of his mind. “You - holy _shit_ , Lou, you killed Marc Jacobs!”

Louis looks exactly like a vengeful Peter Pan ready and eager to run his dagger through any pirate who dares threaten his Lost Boys. Against the backdrop of the window, his frame goes rigid and his voice is tense as a newly strung tightrope. “Your boss was a soul-sucking monster from Romania.”

“He - what?” Harry searches Louis’ face for some indication that he’s joking, that this whole thing has been an elaborate prank just for laughs, but Louis is, for once, completely solemn. “He’s been draining you little by little for months, Haz. The dizziness? Lack of appetite, memory gaps.” Louis pauses. “The - lack of empathy. Not caring about anyone else. He was stealing your soul away in bits and pieces. Feeding off you. Jesy and the girls were fifty-fifty on whether killing him would even bring you back, but we had to risk it.”

Harry listens with growing horror. “I - what?” he croaks. Louis glances at him sympathetically and gets up, reaching for the water and holding it for him to take a deep draft. “We could tell something was off weeks ago, but I - “ Louis swallows. He turns abruptly, going over to the window and lifting the curtain a bit, peering out. “I. convinced Zayn it was. probably nothing. Just - you trying to grow up a bit. be your own person.” He drops the curtain, motion sharp. Shoves his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched a bit. He doesn’t look at Harry. “I wanted to drag you home straight off, but I figured that was just my - “ He shrugs, shoves his hair out of his eyes almost viciously. “y’know. Always thinking people’re leaving, me. So I thought, right then, I’ll be mature about this.” There’s nothing of actual joy in his laugh, only an ugly kind of self-deprecation. “Figures I’d bollocks that one up, too.”

“Hey, no.” Harry tries to sit up. ”Lou, no. You thought you were - that would’ve been perfect of you, normally, just...” He trails off, feeling a bit awkward.

“If not for you getting abducted by a soul-sucking monster looking to exploit you?” Louis finishes. He glances at Harry over his shoulder. “Oh, and he happened to be a striga as well as a fashion designer.”

This, at least, is familiar territory. Harry rolls his eyes. “Louis,” he whines. “It’s not my _fault_.”

Louis stares. “I’ll let it go this once, because you’re poorly,” he says, prim. “But I was totally right about the fashion industry and once I’m done having nightmares about it, I’m going to keep on at you until you admit it.” His expression turns serious. “How are you feeling?”

Harry pauses, takes stock of his body for the first time in - months, honestly. “I feel - achy? A bit hungover, like? Tired. And really, _really_ hungry.” It’s been a low-level ache for so long that he hasn’t really noticed properly until now, but. If he doesn’t have a good rare steak in front of him in the next five minutes he might bite someone.

“I thought you might say that,” Louis looks smug. “Sent Zayn out for sommat just before you woke up. Told him to get some proper tea as well; bloody wankers tried to shove that Bigelow crap at me earlier.” He pulls a disgusted face. “I mean, obviously Yorkshire’s a bit much to ask of Americans, but you’d think they could manage sodding PG Tips or sommat - anyway. He should be back soon, unless he got abducted by another striga. Or, God forbid, a _fashion designer_.”

Harry starts to protest again, but then he notices Louis’ hands are properly shaking. He clears his throat. “‘m sure he’ll be back any minute,” he says, as soothingly as he can, and then before Louis can snap that of _course_ he will, there’s no need to mollycoddle, he scoots down a bit into the covers and says, plaintive, “Lou, ‘m cold.”

Louis is at his side in an instant, brow furrowed. He puts the back of his hand to Harry’s forehead. “You are a bit chilly,” he frowns, “Wouldn’t be surprised if all this compromised your immune system. Maybe I should call - “

“Could you shift?” Harry interrupts, making his eyes go huge and pleading. “Please, Louis, you’re always so nice and warm and I’m sure I’ll feel much better with a cuddle while we wait for Zayn.”

Now Louis looks a bit suspicious. “Are you trying to distract me? Is this - I’m not _Peggy_ , you can’t just dangle a distraction in front of me and make me forget - why don’t _you_ shift, you bloody space heater.”

“Your wolf is warmer than mine,” Harry lies cheerfully, letting his lower lip jut out a bit. “Please, Lou?”

Louis heaves an enormous, put-upon sigh. “Budge over, then,” he says, stripping. Harry obeys happily, opening his arms as Louis shifts and leaps easily to the bed, promptly sticking his cold nose into Harry’s ear and snapping playfully at his throat before turning around a few times (carefully stepping on Harry’s crotch two or three times in the process) and settling with a heavy _whuff_. Harry smiles down at him, wiggling a little farther down the bed so he can curl up tightly into the tawny fur. He winds both hands into Louis’ ruff and sighs contentedly.

Despite the pain in his front from being so hungry, he must sleep at least a little, because he wakes to the door clicking open and Zayn slipping into the room, both hands full of delicious-smelling bags.

“I hope one of those is a steak,” Harry croaks. Zayn sets the bags carefully on the side table and steps quickly over to the bed, taking Harry’s face gently in both hands and tilting it up to meet his own. His eyes are worried, flicking quickly all over Harry’s face. There are deep shadows under his eyes and Harry wants to press his fingers to them, to somehow undo the pain of the past months with touches as gentle as the kisses of the first fall leaves touching the ground. He swallows against Zayn’s hands. “Find what you were looking for?”

Zayn leans down and kisses him. Harry feels his whole body go lax under the touch, almost shaking with the need for more of it, like Zayn’s mouth is the only thing keeping him here and real, like Louis’ hands on him earlier. Everywhere they’re connected is setting off signal fires of _home-safe-pack_ in his head, and he whines into Zayn’s mouth, pushing up closer. He dimly registers Louis opening one eye and flicking an ear in their direction before _whuff_ -ing and putting his head back down on his paws.

They’re both panting when they pull away from the kiss, Zayn’s thumbs sweeping gently over Harry’s cheeks. “Missed you,” he says, sounding a little hoarse himself.

Before Harry can answer, his stomach yowls loudly and Zayn chuckles, stepping back. “Let’s get some food in you, then. I’ve got four steaks and five sides of mash and then some salads and things for after, if you like. And some tea for Louis so he’ll stop going on about it.” He casts a fondly exasperated look at the wolf on the bed. “D’you wanna eat there or can you sit up here, like.”

“I’ll come over there; don’t wanna muss all their nice sheets.”

Zayn helps him up and into a chair and opens the first takeaway box. Harry disappears into red-meat-and-potatoes fueled bliss for the next fifteen minutes and resurfaces to see Louis changed back and lounging easily on the bed talking to Zayn. He smiles at the familiar sight and reaches for the hair tie on his wrist. Really, it’s a miracle his hair’s stayed - he stops, disbelieving, feeling around. “Lads,” he says, trying to stay calm even as he frantically pats at his head. “Lads, _what’ve you done to my hair?_ ”

“Yes! I win.” Zayn says, looking absurdly pleased with himself. “You owe us all a tenner, Louis, we _said_ it wasn’t his idea.”

“How was I supposed to know? He’s always doing weird fashion shit,” Louis grumbles, and this is all very interesting, but doesn’t answer the question of what the _hell_ happened to his hair.

They must see his expression, because Zayn says, gentle, “We dunno, Haz. It was about - a month, Lou? - yeah, nearly a month now - y’just showed up in a shoot with it, like. Figured you must’ve wanted a change or agreed to it.”

“I - no -” Harry says, dazed. It’s ridiculous that _this_ , of all things, is what makes him feel all-over cold and hot by turns and like he needs to have an extremely hot shower and try and wash away the creeping, horror-filled image of him docilely agreeing to something he didn’t want, just because someone he’d trusted told him to do it - and he doesn’t even _remember_ . He stares down at the remnants of his steak and mash, feeling a bit sick. “That _bastard_ ,” he says, tight.

Louis looks approving. Zayn mostly just looks concerned. Harry looks over at them, slow. “Are we - sure he’s dead?”

“Very dead.” Zayn says, and _he_ looks a bit sick. Louis’ face goes cold and tight and he looks about ten seconds from shifting back to his wolf. Without looking, Zayn settles a hand on the back of Louis’ neck, thumb moving a little over his pulse point.

Louis turns into it, tucking his head into the crook of Zayn’s neck, drawing in a deep breath. Something in Harry’s soul aches a bit at the sight, like when you see a fox running for shelter on a stormy day and something in you is homesick for something you’ve never even known. It takes two or three swallows before he manages, “Can I - join?” He feels like he’s intruding, almost, in a way he hasn’t in - ever, really. He’s been Zayn’s packmate for so many years now, it was him and Zayn before it was anyone; even with Zayn and Louis’ shared history they’d never been official packmates. And since then he’s always been blithely assured of his place with Zayn, and then with Louis and Niall and then Liam. But - he blinks. No, he has felt like this before. He remembers, now, even before this whole mess started, remembers the creeping suspicions that everyone was fine without him. That they’d not even notice if he sort of - drifted away quietly. He hunches a little in his seat, reaches to rake his hair back before remembering it’s not there anymore and flinching.

“Sweetheart.” Zayn’s eyes on him are troubled, and Harry swallows, glancing down. “‘Course you can join, if you’re all done eating.”

Harry nods, stacking the containers and wiping his mouth. His hands shake as he tries to stack the flatware neatly inside the containers and he nearly spills the red sauce all over himself as he throws the whole mess in the bin. He tucks them into fists; clenched tight enough he can pretend everything’s normal.

“C’mon then, tidy lad,” Louis teases gently, moving over on the bed. Zayn holds up one side of the covers and Harry clambers in, slotting in between them, burrowing into the warmth. Zayn slings an arm around his waist, fumbling for Louis’ hand and tugging their entwined grip to rest on Harry’s stomach. Louis wriggles a foot in between all their legs, ending up with a thigh wedged between Harry’s legs and a foot between Zayn’s shins. The whole thing should be awkward and uncomfortable, especially with the bed not even a king, but the only thing off is that there aren’t two more bodies on the bed with them.

“Home soon?” Harry mumbles.

His alphas cuddle closer simultaneously. “First thing,” Louis promises, and Harry knows it won’t be that easy, that there’ll be all sorts of legal things to deal with, but for now, he lets himself relax into their warmth and be held, even just for a few minutes.

* * *

 

As it turns out, he doesn’t actually end up having to do much at all. He spends the day or so before they go home alternating between eating and sleeping. Louis or Zayn is always there when he wakes up, and Daisy’s there once. At one point Louis wakes him up, pushes a pen into his hand and tells him to ‘sign this.’ He doesn’t bother looking at it, just signs sleepily and rolls back into slumber.

It’s the easiest flight he’s ever been on, probably because he falls asleep in the middle of the flight attendant offering him peanuts and doesn’t wake until Zayn is coaxing him up and out of the plane.

The cold air hits him like a slap in the face and he gasps, jerking upright. “I don’t - where are - what’s it?”

“Just gotta get to the car, babes,” Zayn says, hand warm on the back of Harry’s neck. “Liam’s come to pick us up.”

Harry lights up. “Liam? Niall, too?”

“No, I - someone had to stay with the kids,” Louis says, and he touches Zayn’s hand on Harry’s neck. “Not long now,” he promises.

They round a corner and Liam’s there, a bit hunched in on himself from the cold, huddled into his coat. Harry’s breath catches in his throat. He looks so solid and safe and constant and _good_. He tries to call a greeting, but it gets likewise caught in his throat, so he starts running instead.

Liam looks up and sees him, his entire body lighting up, and he spreads his arms just in time for Harry to jump into them. Liam staggers back a bit against the car, laughing. Harry leans down, using his vantage point to liberally cover Liam’s face in kisses.

“There’s the Harry we all know and love. You sure you’re not an overgrown koala bear?” Liam’s laughing, but he’s glancing at Louis and Zayn - checking that Harry’s really himself, Harry realises and with an awful, sinking feeling in his gut, wonders what he might have said to Liam that he doesn’t remember. He slides down, out of Liam’s arms, the horror almost numbing. What if he’d said something to _Niall_ or one of the kids? He turns to Louis - Louis’ll tell him the truth, especially when it comes to Niall - but Louis is bundling him into the car before he can ask anything. “Right, then, Payno, give me the keys. I’ll drive; you and Zayner in the back with Haz. ‘S only an hour or so; think I can manage to stay awake on me own for that. Off we go, Niall and the North and all that.”

Harry shoves down the pang of fear that Niall won’t even look at him (Harry _knows_ he can be awful, okay, he’s polite and everything, but he can be a brat, and catty, and sometimes when he and Louis are rowing he says _awful_ things and that was with a soul, even). Doesn’t do any good to brood over it, and Liam’s _here_ and wonderfully reassuring, steady under his hands. He squirms closer, maneuvering himself almost into Liam’s lap. He tucks a hand underneath his own thigh to rest on Liam’s and slouches down far enough to rest his head comfortably on Liam’s shoulder, nose to his birthmark. He blows all his breath out in a sigh hefty enough to stir Liam’s beard. He pats at it, clumsy. He can feel his eyes growing heavy again, and he doesn’t _want_ that, he wants to stay awake and hear every second of Liam being excited about the sick new band he found or a recipe he’s finally gotten to work out. “First Louis and now you,” he mumbles. “Soon it’ll be Niall and I’ll just be left alone in a beardless hellscape.”

Liam makes a quiet noise under Harry’s fingers. “I had a beard last time I saw you,” he points out.

Harry scoffs. “That wasn’t an _actual_ beard. That was like Jake Gyllenhaal in the Good Girl kind of beard, and this one is like Jake Gyllenhaal in Brokeback Mountain levels.”

Liam chuckles, warm. One hand comes to scratch gently into the short hair against the nape of Harry’s neck. “I’m sorry about your hair,” he says, and his eyes are sympathetic. “Tommo told me.”

“Can’t braid it anymore,” Harry says, going for light-hearted and failing pretty badly.

“Couldn’t anyway,” Liam huffs, “You never sat still long enough.”

Harry twists enough to look into his eyes. “I will,” he promises, feeling the too familiar lump in his throat again. “When - when it’s long enough again, I’ll stay still, I promise.”

Liam’s fingers still in his hair, and his eyes flick over to Zayn for a split second before he says, “No, yeah. ‘Course you will, love. I was only teasing, you - you’re great. I’ve got no room to complain about people sitting still, anyway.”

There’s a pause before Harry nods, jerkily. Tries to relax his hands from their reflexive clench. They’re shaking again, and he quickly tucks them back under his thigh. He can almost feel the silent conversation going on above his head, and he’s not at all surprised when Zayn leans over and smooths his hair back, kissing his temple and suggesting, “Why don’t you and Liam have a nap, babes? Got about an hour still. I’ll wake you up when we’re close.”

It’s either late enough or early enough that all the kids are in bed, so it’s just Niall, silhouetted against the light from inside. He looks like a field of daisies tossed into a warm October sky and turned to constellations, and Harry wants to spend the rest of his life charting their light.

He tears his eyes away with an effort. Doesn’t even know if he can bring himself to look Niall in the face, not knowing what he’s said. What he’s done.

But before he can get out of the car, Niall’s there, knelt in front of him, two fingers light under his chin, as careful with him as he is with his prized Taylor guitar or his favourite cap or as he was with Jim when he’d first come to them and wouldn’t look any of them in the eyes. Like he is with all the things he loves. Harry’s vision blurs, but he raises his head, following the guiding fingers obediently. Niall looks - tired, sure, but _good_ . His hair’s grown out, the blond only lingering at the tips. Harry reaches to touch before he’s thought and jerks his hand back, shaking. He didn’t even _ask_ and - he usually - he and Niall don’t usually need to - but that was - and who knows how - Niall’s hand closes over his, fingers strong and calluses blessedly familiar. “Hazza, you can touch, babes,” he says, and then, low, just for them, “what did he _do_ to you, pet.”

If he cries any more, he’s going to disintegrate into soggy tissue, but despite that he tips forward, body shaking as he sobs into Niall’s neck. Niall holds him like he always has, like he can’t imagine doing anything else or ever losing the knack of it.

He vaguely hears the others climbing out of the car and moving into the house, no doubt eager to get in and check on the kids, but it’s a long minute before Harry can bring himself to let go - and it’s only because Niall shifts, biting off a curse, that Harry pulls back in alarm. “Niall, your knee! Shit, I’m so sorry, I - let me - I should’ve thought, I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, leave off that. Wanted to see you, yeah?” Niall smiles at him, easy. “It’s the cold more’n anything. Turned into me granda, I have.”

Harry sniffs, mopping hopelessly at his face with a sleeve.

“Gross, Haz.” Niall pulls himself up, hand on Harry’s forearm. “C’mon, inside with ya. Got some hot cider ‘n some veg soup in case you’re still off meat.”

It’s incredible how something as small as someone knowing and working towards your food preferences can make you feel so known and loved. Harry sniffles again, clearing his throat. “I - dunno, anymore. I might - the cider sounds good.”

Niall’s looking at him again, eyes very blue and intent on his, and there’s the beginnings of what looks like comprehension on his face, but he only says, “Up with you then, before all our hair goes grey and falls out.”

Harry manages about half a bowl of soup and sits nursing a mug of cider, clutching it close like a talisman against the slowly creeping coldness that seems to be settling in his bones. If he keeps his hands tight enough around it he can’t see them shaking.

He startles when Liam sits down across from him; tries to cover it by taking a large gulp of cider. If Liam notices, he doesn’t react, just smiles at Harry, all warm cheeks and crinkly eyes and beautiful self. “It’s good cider, isn’t it? Niall got it from Ben and Michelle at the Farmer’s Market last week. Tommo’s had to limit the kids to one mug a day so’s not gone before the rest of us got some. Gina, especially, since it’s one of only a couple special treats she’s not allergic to.”

Harry nods wordlessly, knuckling at his suddenly hot and achy eyes.

“Would you rather go straight up to bed or d’you reckon you can stay up a bit longer, see the kids before school.”

Harry blinks. “It’s morning?”

“Jet lag kickin’ in, yeah?” Liam grins at him. “Maybe bed, then. Can see them when they’re home.”

Harry thinks about his bedroom, probably exactly the same as he’d left it seven months ago, and can muster exactly zero energy to actually make it up the stairs and into his bed.

“Hey,” Liam’s hand is on his, and Harry blinks. “Want a ride up?”

“I’m not Gina’s size, Liam,” Harry huffs a little, because being carried sounds nice, actually. “Think even you might have trouble.”

Liam just turns around and crouches. “Climb on,” he says, cheerful. “Can’t stay and cuddle, but I can give you a lift at least.”

A bit incredulous, Harry hooks his arms around Liam’s neck and slides his legs around Liam’s waist, koala-like. There’s only a small grunt as Liam straightens, and Harry’s arms tighten. “Holy crap, Li.”

There’s a little pause, and then Liam says, carefully, “You’re - not that much heavier than Gina, Haz.”

There’s something that drops in Harry’s stomach, cold and heavy, at what Liam’s not saying. He doesn’t say anything in return, and Liam carries him easily up the stairs and through the hall, hesitating at his door. “Would you rather be in Louis and Zayn’s room? Yours is made up ‘n everything, just - it might be easier? To sleep? Always is for me, anyway.”

“Yeah, that’s - thanks.” Harry’s grateful he’s on Liam’s back, so he can hide his hot face in Liam’s hair and try, for the millionth time, to pull himself together. Liam tips him gently onto the bed and smiles, not quite as beamish boy-esque as usual. “All right?”

Harry reaches for Liam’s hand, kisses just under the first chevron. “Love you.”

The smile is better this time. “Love you too, babe. Sleep well.”

Harry rolls over into the comfortable mingled scent of all his boys and lets his heavy eyes fall shut at last.

* * *

He wakes to large blue eyes two inches from his own. They widen as he stirs and without moving she yells, “Daaaaaa! He’s awake! Can I now?”

Louis appears in the doorway, looking exasperatedly fond. “He’s awake _now_ , obviously.” He winks at Harry. “She’s a bit excited, aren’t you, Peg?”

“I’ve been waiting _ages_ ,” she complains, sounding so much more grown up than the last time Harry saw her. “He’s awake now, Da!”

Louis rolls his eyes, but nods. “Go ahead, then. Be gentle, though, lovey. Remember what we talked about?”

She huffs a little, rolling her eyes and shoving her hair out of her face in a move so _Louis_ that Harry’s chest hurts. “‘m not a _baby_ , Da. I remem’r.” She climbs on top of Harry and he reaches automatically to steady her as she tips forward and gives him a very wet kiss and then looks triumphantly at Louis. “See! I was gentle.”

“Very gentle,” Louis agrees, coming properly into the room and bending to drop a kiss on Harry’s mouth and then Peggy’s. “I’m going to go pick up Gina and Jim from dance, okay? Zayn-jaan is in his painting room if either of you need anything.”

“Okay,” she wiggles down, laying her head on Harry’s chest and sticking her thumb into her mouth. “I wanna cuddle with Uncle Haz because I missed him.”

Harry pauses with one hand half-way to her tangled mass of hair, turning stricken eyes to Louis, who just smiles at him, equal parts sad and understanding. “I think that’s a splendiferous idea, my love. Be good, babes.” Louis pecks both of them on the forehead and disappears.

Peggy’s so quiet for the next few minutes that Harry figures she’s fallen asleep, but then she moves on his chest, popping her thumb out of her mouth to announce proudly, “Jim hit me and I didn’t cry, even a bit.”

“ _Jim_ hit you?” Harry repeats, incredulous. Jim still hides in closets at the first hint of raised voices, even after nearly a year of living with them and not his alcoholic parents.

She shrugs a little, squirmy. “Well...he didn’t _mean_ to. He was practicing for his recital, and I was trying to show him something. It was annaxident, Uncle Niall said. Gina said we should challenge him to a duel.”

“She did, huh.” Harry smooths a hand over her head, wondering if he can just stay here forever listening to her cheerful babble. “Did you?”

“No,” she scowls. “We had the perfect sticks ‘n everything, and Gina’d made up a battle cry for us, but Zayn-jaan caught us and took them away. _He_ said it wasn’t fair, b’cause Jim felt so - felt so bad,” she ends with a huge sigh, like the effort of getting the sentence out was exhausting in the extreme.

“I bet he did,” His fingers get caught in her tangles and she jerks her head out, impatiently. He freezes, guiltily tucking his hands underneath his thighs, so he won’t be so tempted to run his fingers over the baby-soft curves of her arm or the smattering of freckles that’ve popped up over the bridge of her nose.

She pops upright, frowning at him. “Why were you gone for so many long?” she demands.

“‘For so long’,” he corrects automatically, feeling sick to his stomach. “Didn’t -didn’t your da say you had a talk about it?”

She frowns harder. “He just said that you’d been poorly, and we needed to be very gentle while you were recoop’rating. Have you been sicking up too much?”

“I -” Harry closes his eyes, voice thick. “No, it was - it was a different - kind of. Different kind of poorly.”

“Like da gets sometimes? With his depression?” She sounds it out carefully. “Or Zayn-jaan, when it gets cold?”

“Sort of, I - it was a little bit my fault, ‘m afraid.” He tries to smile at her. “I was - pretty silly about something. I didn’t want to ask for help.”

“You’re s’ _posed_ to ask for, for help.” She sounds like her nanna, very sure of herself and a little disapproving.

“I know, buttercup.”

“So then you asked for help, and Da and Zayn-jaan went to get you and now you’re home and you’ll be all better,” she finishes, triumphant and out of breath.

He can feel his hands shaking again, and he balls them tightly. “Yeah, lovey. That’s exactly it.”

Satisfied, she plops back onto his chest and puts her thumb back into her mouth. “Sleepy,” she mumbles around it and closes her eyes.

* * *

“No, I’d rather not,” Harry says, much more politely than he feels, given that he feels extremely like crawling back into bed and pulling the covers over his head and not moving for the next forever.

Louis looks exasperated. “You’ve been in the house the last two weeks straight, Harry. It’s not healthy. Full moon’s in a couple days; you’re going to _have_ to leave then. Might as well get a bit of practice in.”

Harry looks away. “Thought I could just - stay in with Niall,” he mumbles. “Watch the kids.”

“They’re all going over to Grimmy’s to watch Zootopia for the millionth time and probably eat far too much popcorn and candy,” Louis grumps, and then more gently, “and Niall’s started coming out with us, Haz. He even shifts sometimes.”

Harry feels that by now familiar twist, sharp and deep in his stomach, at the reminder of what he’s missed. “Right,” he says, blank. “Well, maybe I -”

“You’re not going to stay here by yourself,” Louis interrupts. “It’s not _good_ for you, Haz. I know you don’t feel like it, but you’ve got to get outside at least, even if you just sit there. Out of this _room_ , even.”

“I come down for meals!” Harry protests.

“That you only eat because you don’t want to hurt Niall and Liam’s feelings.” Louis reaches out, touches Harry’s hip. “We notice you, Harry. We’re worried about you. You lost a lot of weight already, you - you need more than the little bits you manage between pushing bites around on your plate.”

Harry shifts back, away from Louis’ touch. “I eat,” he says. “Anyway, if I ever go - back, I need to -”

“You need to be exactly the best weight for you, and that’s not lighter than a fourteen year old, Harold! You weigh less than Gina!”

“That’s not - “ Harry swallows, looking away. “That’s not - fair, Lou, I didn’t - I wasn’t doing it on purpose.”

“Not then, I know you weren’t then.” Louis sighs, pulling his hand back finally. “That wasn’t your fault, I know that. You weren’t in - you didn’t have control over it, like. But you - you’re home now, darling. I don’t - “ He sighs again, pushing his fringe away from his face. “Guess I just don’t understand why you don’t eat more now, is all. Leaving aside the whole going back thing. You know what I think about that.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, staring determinedly at the floor.

“Harry, I don’t - can you talk to me, at least? Help me understand?”

“I think I might take a nap, if that’s okay. Maybe we can - talk about this later, I - please?”

Louis’ eyes close, and he looks incredibly tired as he opens them again, getting up. “Yeah, love. I’m going to make sure Gina doesn’t have Jeff tied up to the tree again. You have your nap, and maybe we can - anyway. Hope you feel better. Love you.”

“Love you,” Harry gets out. He stares at the ceiling for a long time before he manages to actually fall asleep, and when he wakes, Zayn’s there, on the floor with his back to the dresser and his knees propping up his book.

Harry sits up, slow, and Zayn looks up, smiling. “Morning, starshine.”

“‘s not morning.” Harry says, feeling contrary.

Zayn rolls his eyes, getting up and sitting on the end of the bed, settling a hand over Harry’s ankle underneath the covers. “All right, grumpyface. Evening, then. You’re just in time for dinner.”

Harry’s stomach drops. “Actually, Zayn, I’m not really that. That hungry? Probably the nap, I’ll just - get some leftovers later.”

“Harry,” Zayn starts, and then pauses. “Louis mentioned something about -” He stops, closing his eyes. “Harry, we need to have a conversation about what’s behind you not eating.”

“Zayn -” Harry feels like he might throw up. “I don’t want to - talk about it, please - “

“I think we have to, sweetheart.” Zayn’s thumb rubs back and forth across the top of Harry’s foot. “We’re - we’re all really worried about you? It’s been - we thought maybe it was just because your stomach wasn’t - used to it, after what the striga did, but it’s been weeks now, and - would it - help? To talk to - someone else about it? Bressie would know someone we could talk to, if you’d rather it not be us.”

Harry stares at the quilt for a long moment before he feels like he can say something without bile coming up as well. “It’s not you,” he says, very quietly, “it’s not anything - I don’t. I just feel so - so _helpless_ all the time, and I can’t - I couldn’t _do_ anything, I didn’t even realise anything was happening, and all of it was - whenever I try to eat, it’s just like - it’s something I can say no about, you know? I don’t - I _hate_ this, Zayn, I hate it! I know you’re all - fussing and _looking_ at each other when you think I’m not looking, but it’s not - I’m hungry, all the time, but I just - it’s easier not to - to just not,” he finishes, weakly, raising a hand to scrub angrily at the hot tears that insist on spilling.

“Can I hug you?” Zayn asks, gentle. “Or is that not good?”

Harry nods, fumbling for the tissue on the nightstand. Zayn moves, lifting Harry up a little so he can settle behind him, arms coming around to his front. He settles Harry’s head back onto his shoulder, locating the tissue and holding one up to Harry’s face. “Blow,” he says, and Harry chokes on a harsh laugh.

“‘m not Peggy,” he mumbles, but Zayn just repeats, “Blow,” and Harry huffs, but obeys.

“There were a lot of things there, Hazza,” Zayn says, slow, “and I don’t want to - I want you to stop me, if I get something wrong, yeah? I love you, first off. I love you so much, and I’m sorry I didn’t - notice, earlier.”

“You did,” Harry protests, weak. “I just kept on shutting you all down when you asked about it.”

“Not that,” Zayn looks sad. “That I didn’t notice there was more going on than you having a fussy stomach and being a bit more teary than usual. It was properly traumatic, what happened, and you deserve for us to take it seriously. You don’t have to go, but I think maybe - even if it’s not for the eating stuff, maybe you should see a therapist, just for everything else.”

Harry goes to protest, and then stops. “Maybe,” he says, stiff. “I don’t - I want to think about it.”

Zayn nods, goes on, “I’d like to know if there’s something - anything we could do to make you feel like you have more control, now? To help you believe that?”

Harry thinks, fingers restless on the quilt, and Zayn waits, one hand rubbing small circles on Harry’s stomach as he does. “I think maybe - I don’t have anything to - do? I don’t have a -” He swallows hard. “- don’t have a job anymore, so. There’s nothing to do?”

“That’s really good, love,” Zayn says, and maybe just that little bit of affirmation shouldn’t make Harry feel warm all over, but sod it. He’s spent enough time being miserable about nothing lately; he’s going to let himself feel good about something, even a small thing. “So time to get you back on the chore wheel, yeah? About time, too, no one makes beds as nicely as you do.”

Harry smiles, just a little. “Louis doesn’t even try though, being fair. Just pulls the covers up over everything. He doesn’t even bother to pull up the sheet first.”

“He’s fired,” Zayn says, solemn. “The job’s yours, sir.” And then a little more seriously, “Are there things we can do with meals that would make it easier to say ‘yes’ instead of ‘no’?”

“Fresh stuff is - easier,” Harry admits, and then, with an effort, “I don’t like - all together is hard, because I _know_ people are looking at me, and I just - it’s hard to - it really is easier to come down later and get something small.”

“So smaller is better, too?” Zayn asks, turning his head a little to nuzzle Harry’s ear. “You’re doing so well, by the way. I’m so thankful you’re talking to me about this, thank you.”

Warm at the praise, Harry nods. “And - I know Niall and Lou make fun of me, but I really do - smoothies are good.”

“They won’t make fun of you,” Zayn says, absolute conviction in his tone. “I promise, Haz, none of us think any of this is silly or that you’re silly for it. We love you, so much.”

“I know,” Harry breathes out, shaky. “I think - probably I should. See someone? Just in general, I don’t - it might be a good idea.”

“Of course, love.” Zayn’s arms tighten around him. “I’m so proud of you, I know this was really hard.”

“Can we just - wait a bit? Before going down for dinner? I want to - I want to try, I just - not quite yet.”

“Anything you need,” Zayn says, gentle. “Take as long as you like, lovely.”

* * *

It’s a couple days later, as they’re doing the washing up, that Niall says, “By the way, Haz, a friend of yours called me a couple weeks ago, just before you got home. She said she hadn’t been able to reach you for a while, but she wanted to let you know that she’s staying with her aunt for ‘the last couple months’. Said you’d know what she meant.”

Harry pauses for a second before too-carefully settling the plate in the cupboard with its fellows. “Oh. That’s - good, yeah. How did she sound?”

“Fine? I mean, a bit out of breath, I guess. Lots of noise in the background, though, so she was probably on the tube or sommat.” Niall eyes him curiously. “Y’okay, sunshine?”

“Yeah, I -” Harry’s voice cracks and he clears his throat. “Yeah. That was - I’d just almost forgotten.”

“Old friend, then?”

“Sort of. Just - with one thing and another, I guess I forgot I had a point in signing that contract besides just being a ‘bloody lucky devil’ like everyone was always telling me.” He laughs, but even he can hear how hollow it rings. “Wonder if her contract’s still good, since the man who made it’s, yknow. Dead.”

Comprehension dawns. “That was Miriam, then? The girl who’s having a baby?”

Harry nods. “That’s me, though, isn’t it. Trying to do something nice, and probably she won’t even have a job and I’ve just made a whole big mess of everything for nothing.”

Niall’s eyes are on his, his gaze holding and pinning Harry as surely as if Harry were a hare beneath - well, a wolf. He shoves his hands into his hoodie pocket; he’s given up stopping them shaking. Hiding it is where he’s landed the past few weeks. There’s a small noise, hurt and broken, and Niall reaches out, slides a hand into Harry’s hoodie as well, cool fingers finding Harry’s and squeezing. “Harry,” he says, and his voice is too soft, too kind, he doesn’t deserve - in another minute Harry’s going to have hysterics or punch something, he can’t, he can’t he _can’t_ -

“Harry!” There’s an icepack on the back of his neck, the shock of it startling him into taking a gasping breath.

“There we go, Hazza, good lad, c’mon, another one for me. Nice and deep, c’mon, my love.” Niall’s voice is so close, and his grip is easy on Harry’s wrist, and he chokes on the next breath. “Don’t - please, I can’t - “ Harry presses back against the cupboards and - oh, he’s on the floor, right, okay.

Niall’s off of him in a heartbeat, backed clear away to the opposite wall. “Okay, easy, I’m not touchin’, see? All good, pet, here -”

Harry chokes again at the endearment, shaking his head slow and then faster and faster.

Niall looks alarmed. “D’you - want me to go? Fetch Zayn or Lou, I -”

“Sorry,” Harry manages, grasping for another breath and on the exhale chanting, “sorry, sorry, sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t -”

“Haz,” Niall murmurs, and he’s close again. “Hazza, love, I’m going to touch your hands, okay? And I want y’ to take as deep a breath as y’can and listen to me, okay?”

Harry shudders from head to foot, but he strangles the still oncoming flood of apologies.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Niall says, slow and clear. “You were trying t’ help a friend, and you were taken advantage of and abused by someone in authority.”

Harry stares, shocked at the implication that it’s anything close to what happened to Niall. “It’s not - I wasn’t -” He stops, swallows hard, tries again. “- Niall, it’s not - what happened to you was _awful_ , my - I wasn’t even. _Close_.”

Niall’s smiling at him, but it looks sad, and his eyes are wet. “Far from home and expecting someone you trust to keep you safe, except they nearly rip out your throat and leave you for dead? Systematically taking away all the things most important to you because they’ve a whim? Stripping you of the ability t’think for yourself or make your own choices?” His hands are warm over Harry’s as he rubs his thumbs in circles over his wrists. “Harry.” He waits until Harry’s eyes drags reluctantly up to his. “It wasn’t your fault. _None_ of it was your fault.”

At least, Harry thinks dimly as he sobs into Niall’s neck, he’s not the only one crying this time.

* * *

It’s not magically fixed, after that. He still feels that desperate, sickening lurch and drive to apologise whenever he senses them treading lightly; he can’t take their hands on his upper arms for longer than a second (Niall smiles at him when he finally confesses one day, after Liam grabs him to pull him out of the way of oncoming traffic and he has a full-on panic attack right out in public: “Matched set, H. Don’t touch me wrists, don’t touch your arms. We fit.”).

He has a panic attack taking the kids to the park, which is one of the more embarrassing things he’s done in his life. To their credit, Jeff and Gina stay pretty calm, holding tight to Peggy and Jim’s hands as Jeff calls Zayn. Peggy’s scared, though, and Harry doesn’t really blame her. They’ve made sure all the kids know what a panic attack is, and what to do if one of them has one, but it’s the first time they’ve actually been there for one.

He practices not feeling guilty about that. He practices not feeling guilty about a lot of things, says ‘thank you’ where he wants to say ‘sorry’.

Reminds himself every two minutes that this is his pack, his family, that he _chose_ this, that they chose _him_ . He calls his mum and cries, predictably, but her steadying presence, relentless love, patience acceptance is comforting all the same. The tone of her voice after he confesses that he still wakes up feeling Jacobs’ hands on him and _knowing_ that it was his fault all along, that he contracted into this, is as sure of itself as it was when he was six and told her that Gemma was a drug dealer. Full of confidence and just the littlest bit dismissive, conveying that the very idea was preposterous. “Harry, of course it’s not your fault.”

He breathes out, shaky, “That’s what Niall said.”

“Of course he did, Niall’s a good boy. You were doing a friend a kindness, because that’s who you are, love. It’s no more your fault that you were abused than it was Gemma’s when she went out with that fellow who said he owned millions and then it turned out he _owed_ them and just wanted to lunch at her expense.”

“Think the situations are just a little different, Mum,” Harry says, smiling nonetheless.

“Be that as it may -” Her voice goes serious. “Listen to me, Harry. I’ve never lied to you and I’m not about to start now. It _wasn’t your fault_. If you can’t believe it now, ask one of your boys to repeat it every day until it sinks in, or call me or Gem, and we’ll do it. I love you, muffin.”

“Love you too, mum.” He sits for a long time, phone still pressed to his ear, before he shakes himself and gets up to go start on making the beds.

He practices eating, too. Practices the things his therapist suggests, focuses on his goal for the day and tries not to retreat into himself and away from the others’ encouragement and support  when he can’t reach it. Niall keeps a store of smoothies made up for him in the freezer, and Liam keeps experimenting with making his own power bars or protein balls or whatever. Some of them actually taste good, even. (There’s a ban on mentioning the coconut oil-cocoa-pecan ones, though.)

The days that he can sit down to dinner with everyone and actually eat are getting more frequent, although not so often to stop them feeling like a bloody victory every time.

It’s a week ‘til Christmas (“Six days ‘til my birthday!” Louis crows) and they’re stringing popcorn after dinner, _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_ playing on the telly, and Zayn comes in, fresh bowl of popcorn in hand. “Did I miss the bit where they meet Aslan?” he asks, dropping onto the couch by Harry and handing the bowl off to Jeff.

“No, they just almost got eaten by the wolves!” Gina says, sounding far too thrilled about the prospect.

Jim looks stricken, suddenly. “Gina, maybe that’s rude,” he says, looking worriedly at Niall.

“It’s fine, dearheart,” Niall says, smoothing a hand over Jim’s tight curls, and Gina says, scornful, “It’s just a _movie_ , Jim, it’s not like they’re _real_ werewolves, even. All of them are evil, and we know that’s wrong in real life.”

This sparks a protest from Jeff, who’s insisting that they’re not _all_ evil, and Gina hollering that she doesn’t care and anyway the lion is cooler, and in the midst of it Peggy and Jim fall asleep and Zayn leans into Harry’s side. “‘s been a week.”

Harry looks at him, confused, and Zayn smiles. “Of you coming to eat with us, like,” he explains. “Been a full week.” He turns his head enough to kiss the thin shell of Harry’s ear, just visible under the slowly lengthening hair.

Harry’s hands still on his popcorn strand, gone blurry in a wash of tears. Jeff, on his other side, breaks off arguing with Gina to ask in a worried whisper, “Are you okay, Harry?”

He nods, smiling down at Jeff, best he can. “Yeah, I’m - good, yeah. Happy tears.”

“Okay.” Jeff turns back to the movie, ignoring Gina’s attempts to draw him back into the argument with the ease of long practice.

Harry leans into Zayn, catching Louis’ eye across the room. Louis smiles at him softly from over Peggy’s golden head. Harry smiles back, shifts enough that he can stretch a foot to nudge Liam where he’s patiently letting Gina drape popcorn strings over him. Liam glances up, face already squinched into his happiest grin, and moves - carefully, so as not to dislodge the popcorn chains - to squeeze Harry’s ankle.

Niall gets up to go for more popcorn, leaning to drop a kiss on Harry’s nose as he goes by.

He comes back in a second later, without popcorn, and with an odd look on his face. “Harry, there’s something in the kitchen I think is yours.”

Harry frowns. “A package?”

“Um. Sort of? Maybe you - maybe y’should just come look.” Harry hands his bowl and string off to Zayn and gets up, following Niall back to the kitchen.

He stops dead, looking from the bundle to Niall to the bundle again. Niall shrugs helplessly, and Harry takes a deep breath, stepping forward to lift the blanket off of the carrier. The baby blinks up at him calmly. Niall says, quiet from behind Harry, “I heard a noise, outside. Thought it was maybe something looking for directions, but. Opened the door ‘n there were just taillights and this ‘un.”

“I gave her my address just in case, but -” Harry breaks off, helpless. He reaches in, cradling the baby gently to his chest.

“‘S it a boy or a girl?” Niall peers over his shoulder.

Harry pulls back the blanket enough to check. “It’s a boy,” he reports. The baby looks up at him and sneezes, and Harry’s holding a wolf pup.

He looks at Niall. Niall looks back. Harry tickles a paw and the wolf whines and squirms and Harry’s holding a baby again. He turns, slowly, walks back to the living room. “Er,” he says, standing in the doorway hesitantly.

Everyone looks up. “I, um. It was a baby.”

There’s a moment’s breathless silence, and then Louis says, solemn as a judge, “Yer a father, Harry,” and everyone pelts him with the leftover popcorn.

There’s a birth certificate tucked in the bassinet when Zayn looks. Harry’s name is on it, as the father. There’s another, longer silence. The baby helpfully shifts into a cub again and the silence is a little more pointed.

Finally Louis, Peggy still slumbering peacefully in his arms, says doubtfully, “Haz, earlier when you said it wasn’t yours -”

“He’s not!” Harry says, staring disbelievingly from the pup to the certificate. “I - it’s _literally impossible_ for it to be mine!”

“It is Christmas,” Niall says. “Maybe it’s, like, divine or sommat.”

Liam frowns. “LIke, Harry’s the Virgin Mary?” he asks, sounding uncertain. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“Nah, he’d be Joseph, wouldn’t he? What’d Mary put on the birth certificate, anyway? I mean, just putting ‘God’ probably wouldn’t fly, I shouldn’t think.” Louis looks curious.

“They didn’t have birth certificates in ancient Israel,” Zayn interjects and Liam says, “No, but - they were going to be registered, right? So, like, the baby would’ve had to, like, too, right?”

“Well, yeah, but they had to sneak out right away, because of Herod, so -”

“No, they didn’t, they were there two years before -”

“Getting back to the subject,” Louis says loudly, and it being _Louis_ of all people is so unexpected that everyone shuts up, and Louis goes on, more gently, “D’you want us to look into - changing it, Hazza?”

Harry looks up, dazed, from watching the baby chew happily on his YSL limited edition silk shirt. “Change - what?”

Zayn and Louis trade looks. “If you don’t want to keep him,” Zayn explains, “it’s probably better to -”

“If I don’t want to - _obviously_ we’re keeping him!” Harry looks around, incredulous, “I - she clearly wanted me to - have him, I’m not going to -” He pulls the baby, human now, closer. “He’s mine,” he says with quiet finality.

“Well.” Louis looks around the circle, smiling. “Happy Christmas.”

Niall reaches to touch the baby’s tiny hand, skin looking paler than ever next to the baby’s dark one. “God bless us, everyone.”

Harry looks around the circle, at his pack, his family, his home, and then back down to the - to his son. _His_ _son_. “Amen,” he finishes.

**Author's Note:**

> *Harry develops an eating disorder as a result of a supernatural creature stealing his soul and enables it in order to feel control of something again. He talks to his pack about it and starts seeing a therapist and is on the path to recovery by the end of the story*
> 
> a HUGE thank you to [B @littlepetlouis](littlepetlouis.tumblr.com) for being the best cheerleader/beta anyone could ask for, and to [husky](http://archiveofourown.org/users/foundfamilyvevo) for months ago sending me an IM about 1d as werewolves.
> 
> thanks to the mods of the fic fest as well! this was a fantastic experience and I'm so glad I got to do it <3


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